


The Knight In Yellow

by amanounmei



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse, Green Lantern (Comics)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:12:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amanounmei/pseuds/amanounmei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is different about the Batman.</p><p>And it is yellow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 00 - The Colour

**Author's Note:**

> To avoid spoilers, tags and characters will be added as the story progresses.

The view from the Watchtower was always breathtaking. Anyone who stepped up to a window would inevitably feel dwarfed by the majesty of the planet below them. It seemed impossible not to get a feeling of being small and insignificant when one could behold the world, and still not see it all. Unless, of course, they were one of those few blessed who travelled through space.

But right now no one was by a Watchtower window. The Leaguers were assembled by the conference table, sitting in their chairs while the Batman stood to explain why the meeting was called. And while everything appeared to be just as usual, there was one thing that did not seem right.

It was not obvious, though. Hal Jordan, the resident Green Lantern, was sitting with a frown bending his mask. The others have long learned to ignore the faint green glow that seemed to accompany him at all times, so no one noticed the ponderous look on his face.

He was staring at the Batman intently, but not really listening to a word he was saying. There was nothing different about the Dark Knight – he wore the same pointy cowl, the same black cape, the armoured suit. He spoke in the same firm, commanding voice in the exact same manner as always. And yet something was off. Something intangible, faint, in the background almost like a dull headache.

Hal Jordan rubbed his forehead. Why was he the only one who seemed concerned?

“You alright, Hal?” a voice asked, and the man looked up to see the Flash staring at him with a frown.

“Yeah,” the Lantern replied. “Just a little headached.”

“We're done here,” the Batman announced, as if saying that he will not be adding to the pain much longer. “Everyone knows their assignments, I want you to keep me informed.”

Nodding in agreement, the Leaguers rose from their seats, Hal being the only one with no idea what was expected of him. He was so absorbed with that nagging, disturbing feeling that he did not listen at all. He would have to ask Barry to rerun all that for him again.

But as he and the Flash headed for the transporter, he could not help but wonder where he has felt this sort of vibe before.

 

The city was dark, as nearly every night, and not just because of the weather. The people that roamed its streets at night were mostly those out for pleasure, money or blood. No one felt safe there after dark, and very few were able to get out of the city as a whole and never come back to it.

But the people knew that even though things seemed hopeless, there was someone guarding them, someone watching over them; it started with one, an urban legend, a man in the shadows, a boogeyman. But then more came, one by one, and the dark army grew, and finally, after all these years, the city felt a hint of safety.

Some say that it never sleeps, and with it, its silent protectors can never rest. A war rages on, battle by battle, but recently something seemed to change.

Those in the underworld often talked about those that waged war against them. Even if they spoke the truth, their words soon became little more than rumours, bits and pieces with little context to them that no one seemed to truly believe.

And it was the same this time, when someone told someone else who told someone else that the Bat had a new trick up his sleeve. It sounded more preposterous than ever, but the news circled and would not be ignored. Yet, who could pay attention to something that originated in the deepest, darkest bowels of Arkham Asylum? First the Mad Hatter, whose testimonies were true to his name. Then Two-Face, constantly talking about the dual nature of the Batman. The Riddler, conceiving new puzzles and riddles and conundrums. But, perhaps, the most peculiar was the Scarecrow.

Out of all the inmates, Jonathan Crane was the only one who appeared pleased with the new development. He laughed each time someone mentioned it, and even requested that his doctors give him paper and crayons in the colours were the only common thing between all the versions of this rumour.

Yellow.

 

Batman pulled his cowl down as he entered the cave. The night had been fruitful; no supervillain dared show their face, and he was glad. All the minor crimes he encountered – muggings, robberies, the like – he thwarted with such ease he wished he could have done so before.

“You did it again,” Robin said, sitting on the railing on the upper walkway above the main level. He stared down at the man from behind his mask, and even though he did not really leave the cave that night – at least not officially – he still waited there in full getup.

“Have you been following me?" Bruce asked rather flatly, not believing for a moment that his son stood put the entire night. It would be no news to him.

“Didn't need to,” the boy heaved himself off the railing in an unnecessary, but very graceful somersault. Having been trained for the job by a circus acrobat clearly rubbed off on him. “I know you wouldn't resist it. You're not even trying.”

The Knight approached the armour rack and hung the cape and cowl on it. He did not even glance at Robin as he undid his famous utility belt and put it away neatly. “It's a tool like any other, Damian,” he said.

The boy approached him with a less than convinced expression on his young face. “It's very much unlike any other, father,” he said, watching the man continue to remove his suit bit by bit. But he himself did not strip off his costume, even though it was already nearing dawn.

“And pray tell what makes it so different,” Bruce frowned at his son.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Doesn't this concern you at all?” he asked, irritation clear in his voice. “It comes out of nowhere and gives you power, and you think there isn't going to be a price to pay?”

The man headed up the stairs to the manor, followed by the still costumed boy. “Of course I'm aware of that,” he said in that usual, firm tone of his that did not take no for an answer. “But sometimes such sacrifices are worth it for the greater good.”

He heard a loud groan behind himself. “Greater good!” Robin said, his annoyance growing. “One day this will bite you right in the ass and we'll all suffer for it!”

Bruce heaved a tired sigh. “This isn't up for debate, Damian. Go to bed.”

And as the boy stomped back down to change from his colourful costume, his father went straight to his own room. Seldom was he that eager to get some sleep, but he felt especially tired that night. In fact, these past few days he felt tired in general unless he was out on patrol, but he dismissed hat and simply let himself fall asleep.

He had nightmares.

 

Nightwing has seen his share of improbable and impossible during his career as partner and then associate to Batman, and few things amazed him anymore. However, a Green Lantern in Gotham City was always something. Someone that shiny, and therefore that noticeable, stood out so much it was like placing a fishing lure in a breeding tank. And Dick Grayson could not help but be amused to no end.

Fortunately, Hal Jordan knew better than to turn the light off and approach on foot. He would not make it as far as the next block without having to turn it back on, at least not at this time of day. He preferred to go by air, where fewer bad guys were able to reach him.

When he finally reached that specific rooftop, Nightwing greeted him with a goofy grin.

“Hi to you too,” Hal frowned. “You're having a good day.”

Dick somehow managed to broaden his grin even more. “Always when I get to greet the world's brightest man in the world's darkest city.”

The Lantern gave him a look that spelled out nothing less than are-you-shitting-me. Out loud, he said: “By brightest I assume you don't mean smartest.”

Nightwing straightened up, brushing a loose strand of hair out of his forehead. The air was chilly, almost every night in Gotham, and the wind was gentle despite the cold. “Anyone who wasn't born in Gotham and goes into it can't be very smart,” he said, his teeth still bared. He was clearly very amused by his own obscure humour.

Hal rolled his eyes under the mask. “Funny. I have reasons to be here, you know. It's about your Batman.”

The younger man's expression immediately shifted to visible concern. As far as emotions go, he was never very good a hiding his. But before he managed to speak up, the Lantern continued:

“Something's definitely wrong with him. I mean, more than usual.”

While Nightwing was one of the people ready to punch teeth out of those who spoke bad things about his mentor, this time he had to admit the apparent insult was more than just correct. It was painfully correct. “You noticed too, huh?” he asked, the concern almost radiating from his eyes.

“It was hard not to,” the other man said, glancing sideways at the dark city, but only briefly. Even five minutes in Gotham at night could easily ruin one's mood. “Not to go all Star Wars on anyone, but I sensed something around him.”

Dick gave him a questioning look, adorned with a deep frown. “Sensed. I didn't know your ring can do that.”

“It can't,” came the response. It only made the brows around the mask over them shift even higher. “Not unless there's something very specific for it to detect, and it doesn't do that often...”

The younger man stared at Hal for a longer moment in silence, and silence answered him. Ever since he abandoned his old Robin mantle he was not entirely up to date with what was going on with the Batman. Sure, they worked together more often than not, but he did not exactly keep tabs on his mentor's and stepfather's every move.

And of course he heard the rumours. He knew what the underworld spoke of, but did not make the connection until that very moment.

His apparently more knowing expression told Hal more than Dick expected it to.

“Yeah,” the Lantern nodded. “That's probably it...”

 

Arkham Asylum.

Those two words spoke more than entire paragraphs could. It was amazing how few knew its full, official name – the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. And that name spoke even more.

The facility has been christened after its founder's wife, the notable Elizabeth Arkham, married to Amadeus Arkham. A brilliant doctor himself, in love with his dearest wife perhaps beyond reason. But the good doctor, unfortunately, was not immune to the madness he vowed to contain. In time, he moved from containment to war to total elimination. Inmates became monsters, a scourge to be eradicated.

Even today, the remnants and shadows of the horrific experiments he tortured his patients with loomed over those that had the misfortune of being forced to live in the complex. Of course today no one tortured the inmates to death in the name of figuring their illnesses out, but the stain would remain forever.

The Batman was glad for a containment facility of any sort in a city that had this much crime within it. Of course, Arkham needed more than many improvements, but it served its purpose. It even had a few successes to boast about, like the rather famous case of Arnold Wesker, alias the Ventriloquist, who was led to a full and complete recovery from his split life as the gangster Scarface and his aide.

As the Dark Knight walked the corridors, between the many cells, he met a rather wide variety of stares. Some were of anger or borderline hatred, some of fear, others a mix of emotions ranging from sadness to fascination. Each of the inmates inside the intensive treatment facility had a different disorder, different problems, and a different history with the Bat.

The Mad Hatter, Jervis Tetch, invited him to tea. Of course the brew was laced with strong chemicals that, long story short, made the subject both vulnerable to suggestion and hallucinating according to those suggestions. Poison Ivy, Pamela Isley, gave him a slightly seductive look, but Batman ignored it. He knew that even if she felt some real attraction for him, she as driven mostly by a desire to control him and use him to her own ends.

Two-Face, Harvey Dent, was flipping his coin. Hush just gave the Crusader a smirk from beneath his trademark bandages. The Riddler, Edward Nigma, smiled at him in an almost kind way from over a crossword puzzle. Killer Croc, Weylon Jones, bared his teeth in anger, while Victor Zsasz just sent the Batman a sideways glance.

But the worst of the lot was the Scarecrow.

The moment the Dark Knight passed his cell, Doctor Crane lashed out and grabbed the bars of his cell door.

“You!” he shrieked, his voice oddly more high pitched than usual. The vigilante stopped, turning towards the inmate with an expression as stone as only he could manage.

“You are blessed!” the Scarecrow said, a little louder, earning himself a small frown in reply. “You wield fear incarnate!”

Batman allowed himself a shake of his head, which he did not do very often when someone saw him. Most of the time he would chose to show no emotion, no reaction, but this time it seemed pointless. Rumours would soon cease to be rumours, and he was not so sure if it was a bad thing. A part of him even expected the deranged doctor to react in some different way, but he did not foresee such... _passion_ , such reverence. He resumed his walk through the corridor, trying to ignore the inmates around him, but mostly trying to ignore the words reverberating behind him.

“In blackest day!” the Scarecrow called. “In brightest night!”


	2. 01 - The Weapon

"Unbelievable."

Damian looked at the older boy as he paced around the cave. He did not do that often, in fact, he was seldom seen losing his cool. And while he remained as composed as ever, it was very clear that he struggled with his thoughts. His brow was raised in a deep frown, visible even more because he was not wearing his usual mask. He clenched and unclenched a fist, as if unsure whether he was angry enough to punch someone or something. Hell, he has flown all the way from New York because he was told there is trouble with the Bat.

This, however, he did not expect.

"For once we agree, Drake," Robin said.

Tim stopped and turned to him. "Just like that?" he asked. "It just flew over and he decided it's a good idea?"

The younger boy shook his head. As much as he hated to admit it, his least favourite of stepbrothers was completely right even though he did not state his point outright. "It's beyond me," Damian admitted. "I know he believes in extreme measures, but I thought that even he has his limits..."

Their eyes locked and they were then able to notice just how different their minds where on the matter. Tim's eyes were now narrowed, suggesting something between anger and determination – what he was determined to do was a different thing – while Damian was sporting a deep, sad frown of concern. And both of them looked very disappointed.

"Apparently his idea of limits differs from ours," a familiar voice said as someone joined them in the cave. When they turned to the entrance – or more like one of the many natural tunnels that led inside – they saw the lithe, athletic silhouette of Nightwing.

"So what do we do about this?" Red Robin asked as the eldest of the three peeled his mask off his face. It was certainly a relief for him to spend some time without the latex and electronics glued to him.

"We tried talking," Dick said. "But he's not listening."

Damian stood from where he was sitting on the medical bed. "You came here to play Captain Obvious?" he asked in an audibly irritated tone.

Nightwing sat in the currently unoccupied chair by the batcomputer. “No,” he said. “We've done what we can for the time being.”

The first to react to that was Tim, who shook his head, spreading his already messy hair over his forehead. “So you'll just have us sit back and watch him run around with that thing?” he asked, but his voice was rather calm, showing that despite not liking the idea he was at least willing to hear it out.

“Just for a moment,” Dick replied. “Give someone else a chance to try talking sense into him.”

Robin cocked his head slightly. “Who?”

 

Batman soared alone.

He did not blame the others for choosing to patrol on their own these past few days. All four of his partners, past and present, have clearly voiced their disapproving of his decision.

But that was what it was. His decision, and his alone. This is how he began his mission, on his own, and apparently this was how he was going to carry it on. Well, not like he completely cut himself off from the others. While they did not approve of his tool of choice, they remained his family, and not like he kicked Robin out of the house.

He stopped on one of the roofs, a random one on his usual patrol route, and took a deep breath. While he would not admit it openly, he was quite tired; he could not get much proper sleep for some time now, and once he did fall asleep, the dreams were disturbing. Well, more than usual. Of course he suspected – in fact, he was quite certain – that his fatigue has something to do with his new found powers. Not the power as such, but more like his resistance to it.

The ring whispered to him.

At first it merely said that he is capable of instilling great fear in his enemies and therefore it chose him as the wielder of this yellow force. While it was definitely not his colour, he could live with it as long as it helped him fight his war. The disembodied voice kept promising him things, always ones he could really use, or even did not realize he wanted.

The ring was the perfect complement – no, _embodiment_ – of his mission. The others would not understand.

Frowning, he looked up as a soft green glow illuminated his spot on the roof. “I told you to turn the lights off.”

The Green Lantern landed right in front of him. “You know why I'm here, Bats.”

“I do and I have nothing to say,” came the rather harsh reply.

Hal rolled his eyes. “Course you don't,” he said. “Mostly because you thought you can hide it forever, didn't you?”

Bruce gave him a stern, somewhat surprised gaze. “No,” he said in a tone that suggested he did not expect anyone to accuse him of something so ridiculous. “I knew I can't hide it long, and I didn't intend to. It's the criminals that shouldn't know what this is, not my allies.”

The other man returned the stare, and his was bordering on anger. “Doesn't feel much like allies right now.”

Batman shrugged, what only seemed to add to Hal's anger. “I'm not expecting anyone to understand this.”

“Understand this!” the Lantern flung his arms in exasperation. “What's there to understand? That you've accepted something that will corrupt you and turn you into _its_ tool instead?”

Bruce shook his head. “That's not going to happen,” he said firmly. “You know me better than that, Hal. I'm stronger than this ring.”

The Lantern felt his lips thin a bit and his eyes narrow under the mask. “Yeah,” he said, his voice harsher now. “Not strong enough to resist it, apparently.” Before the Dark Knight could reply to that, a hand was raised before him. A ring stared at him, green and glowing and so oddly soothing to those that beheld it. “If you were strong-willed enough to beat the yellow element, you'd get one of these.”

Batman shoved the hand away, glancing sideways. He was one of those few that the glow made feel uneasy.

“They need to fear us,” he said to break the sudden silence. “Otherwise they will just keep doing what they're doing.”

Hal felt a chill run down his spine. “I didn't like it the first time you said it,” he admitted. “And I still don't.”

“It's true,” Batman replied in a voice so indifferent it was borderline cold. “It may not seem plausible to you, but it's worked wonders here. Look around you,” he waved a hand at the cityscape. “The underworld here doesn't care for your valour or morality or anything else. You have to play by their rules and beat them at their own game.”

The Lantern narrowed his eyes further. That did not sound like his friend at all. Where was the Caped Crusader who set and enforced his _own_ rules? “You sound just like him,” he said in a grim tone.

“Who?”

Hal sighed. “The guy who made your ring,” he said, his tone unchanged. “He was a good man, too, like you. Until he found that damn yellow element.”

Bruce turned his back to the other man and approached the edge of the roof. “We're done.”

A large, glowing green hand grabbed him, restraining his arms and lifting him an inch off the roof. “No,” the Lantern said, holding him firmly in his construct. “We're not.”

Batman did not hesitate. Calling on his new found power, he felt the yellow element surge through his system in a wave of something akin to ecstasy, from his mind to his hand. The sensation felt almost addictive, almost sweet, and even more when he urged it out in a burst that shattered the green construct.

Hal took an instinctive step back as he beheld his transformed friend. Strands of delicate gold spanned his costume, gleaming in contrast with his typically dark image. All in all, that did not seem to fit him at all.

This was no longer the Dark Knight.

“You're not going to change my mind,” Bruce said sternly. Still as focused and deliberate as ever, he forced the yellow construct, the extension of his power, into what resembled a lash. He swung it at the other man, who immediately raised a shield.

But fear is the enemy of will, and yellow has the potential to break the green. For someone as skilled and accomplished at instilling fear it proved to be almost no challenge at all. Taken aback, Hal was tossed backwards across the roof, and though he managed to halt his flight in mid-air, Batman was no longer there.

 

After that, Hal did not attempt to approach Bruce again on that topic, but whenever they as much as passed each over on the Watchtower, the Lantern observed him closely. And did not bother hiding it, since the Caped Crusader watched him back. There was obvious tension between them and eventually the other Leaguers noticed.

Superman was first to bring the topic up. And knowing how difficult the Batman could be when this grumpy, he began with approaching the other side of the conflict.

“Don't say it,” Hal raised a hand to silence Clark even before the man could speak. “I know what you're going to say.”

The other nodded. “Then you can answer me.”

Heaving a rather heavy sigh, the Lantern looked around to make sure no one else would hear and lowered his voice a little. There was no reason to let anyone else in on this conflict for now. “Bats got his hands on something really bad.”

“... Okay,” Superman said, his voice strained. “I don't like the sound of that.”

Hal looked at him with a small, concerned frown. “It's a yellow power ring.”

Kal-El shook his head. While he was no expert on the matter, dealing with interplanetary threats and otherworldly menaces required him to know things most people would not even imagine. And while the whole layout of all the various corps and their special powers escaped him for the most part, he did understand the significance of those words.

A power ring was a very dangerous tool. And yellow stood for fear.

“How in the universe did he get that?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in an attempt to hide just how anxious he was. Normally he would not want to hear the answer, but the man concerned was his closest friend in all the world. He had to do something.

“The ring chooses its bearer,” Hal reminded him. “I don't think a new one was made, so I'd assume the Sinestro Corps' operative of this sector died and his ring went to find a successor.”

“And found Bruce,” Clark finished the thought out loud, but that was where the conversation seemed to cut off. Neither of the two men knew what else to add. They did not truly blame the Batman for getting himself into this, for it was not him who sought a way into the ranks of Thaal Sinestro, and now his replacement, Arkillo. Some corps were known to use mind games or even brainwashing to integrate their new recruits into the correct mindset, but the appeal of a power ring, of a tool and a weapon capable of virtually anything, was enough for almost no one to resist accepting it.

“He wouldn't listen to me,” the Lantern said, finally breaking the thick silence. “Nor to any of his kids, I understand.”

Superman sighed. “That's him, alright,” he said, giving his friend a clearly concerned look. “But can he actually ditch the ring if he decides to?”

Hal did not answer that question at once. There have been documented cases of bearers changing their colours along the spectrum, but the ones he was aware of went from green rather than to it. Except for one.

Thaal Sinestro turned yellow turned indigo turned green.

“It's possible,” Hal finally said. “But it depends entirely on him.”

Clark shookhis head. “We're royally screwed.”

The other man cocked his head in something akin to disappointment. “I expected some support from you, you know,” he said.

“I never said this is it,” Kal-El replied immediately. “Bruce can be a really difficult man and you know it. I don't have any ideas right now, but I'm not giving up on him. I never will.”

 

Elsewhere, in an office coated in darkness disturbed only by the flickering of an old fashioned candle a woman was sitting by an old, ornate desk. She, too, seemed to be from another time or place. Her hair was long and draped over her back unrestrained, her dress delicate, flowing and quite revealing. The light barely illuminated her and the documents before her, and should anyone behold her like that, they would surely think of her as demonic.

And that would have been a very apt description. The woman, though born like a human, was bred by and a like a demon. Heiress to an empire of death, Talia al Ghul became as merciless as she was beautiful.

But even those widely regarded as monsters often had slivers of humanity in them.

Most of the documents before Talia concerned cloning – a complex procedure that even her father's outstanding scientists were still perfecting. She had been looking through the descriptions, all the notes and annotations and end results of less than humane tests. She knew them very well already; she had used this black gem of science for her own ends more than once. And while complete clones continued to be far from perfect, either fragile or genetically defective of short-lived, bits and pieces were sufficient for medical purposes like transplants, even of organs that normally could not be replaced.

Talia al Ghul was also able to use that expertise to manipulate DNA of existing organisms rather than breeding them from scratch. And her greatest achievement in that field would return to her soon enough. Whether he liked it or not.

She was a patient woman. She planned, observed, and waited for the opportune moment. She would not let him suffer like she did in her childhood years; suffer an empty life with something – someone – constantly missing. That was a gap that could not be filled by anyone else than the person who left it. And she would ensure there was no more gap, no wound to be filled.

Talia narrowed her eyes. The office seemed to become somewhat warmer despite the hour being late and the sun already far behind the horizon. The door to the chamber has been closed since she sat down, so it would not have been that.

She looked up from the papers to an eerie glow.


	3. 02 - The Mother

Oa was beautiful. Hal always considered it a marvel that a place such as that could have been built. While it no longer felt alien to him, what with him having spent more time there than in his old apartment these past few years, the scenery never ceased to amaze him.

Sometimes, when he needed to clear his head, he would just fly around the place and admire the sights. If someone told him a few years back that he would be soaring through space on his own power, commanding a corps of interplanetary warriors form a set of a sci-fi movie and saving the universe... well, he would most likely give that someone a number to a cheap psychiatrist. Yet there he was, passing the training grounds of new recruits.

Hal Jordan considered himself a blessed man.

The chill of the wind on his face helped him focus; wind was rare on this planet, but a Lantern's own velocity added to it nicely. Finally, with nothing left to distract him, he could rethink the whole situation.

Something was very much not right.

Batman did not seem to be acting on general behalf of his corps. Their new leader, Arkillo, would have made some changes, of course... but he was so loyal to Sinestro that it sounded improbable for him to run things differently. So why was Bruce not on their new homeworld, wherever it was, working to advance their common mission?

Then again, what _was_ the mission of the Sinestro Corps?

They were formed for the sole purpose of opposing the self-proclaimed Guardians of the Universe. No one believed Thaal Sinestro and his predictions of betrayal at the hands of the very founders and mentors of the Green Lantern Corps. Well, no one save for his first and dearest friend, the decorated Lantern Abin Sur who allegedly glimpsed the future. Or had some other revelation. Or simply realized that if the little blue men could obliterate their previous creations, there was not much to stop them from doing it again.

Regardless, in a series of tragic events closely following the Brightest Day, it turned out that Thaal Sinestro had been right all along.

So now that they have achieved what they were meant to, the yellow corps seemed without purpose. Yet, despite having been shut down once by their very founder, the yellow central battery was once more operational. Why? Hal had a feeling they would find out.

And they would not like it.

Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. A bearer could resist and abandon a ring, and on even rarer occasion a ring has been wrestled from its bearer. Perhaps they would have to take a bit more drastic measures with Bruce. Not that Hal had any idea how to force a yellow ring off its owner.

But he knew who would. And since Arkillo was not his biggest fan, Hal Jordan would have to seek help elsewhere.

 

The scenery was almost cliché for this type of setting. A calm, summer breeze through fields of sunburnt grass, mild traffic on the road that cut the landscape and not a single cloud on the sky. That particular spot Hal headed for was situated quite a distance from the nearest town, or even the nearest truck stop, but that was not an issue for everyone.

A young man was sitting near the road, under one of the scarcely growing trees. His unkempt black hair seemed to try to cover his eyes as he leaned over something, but could not quite reach far enough to obscure his view. And that something in his hand was nothing more than a worn sketchbook and one of his many different pencils.

The pencil, however, was not used to draw the calm landscape. The image, not meant for just any eyes to see, was of things not from this Earth, things seemingly from dreams or perhaps someone's vivid imagination.

Hal lowered himself to the grassy ground without bothering to phase his suit off or depower his ring. They were well enough alone out there, and even if someone spotted them from a passing car, it would not compromise his identity.

“You're not an easy man to get a hold of, Kyle,” the Green Lantern said.

“You could've just called,” the other man replied, putting a few more strokes on the drawing before looking up. “It's not like I don't have the ring with me.”

“Well,” Hal shrugged a bit. “I thought this isn't a topic to be discussed across the galaxy.”

Kyle's eyebrows rose in a deep, questioning frown, and he closed the sketchbook. “Okay,” he said, putting the pencil away carefully. “Now you got me mildly concerned. What is it?”

“Do you remember Batman?” the Green Lantern asked as his friend rose from where he was sitting.

With that same frown on his young face, he replied: “Yeah. He's really difficult to forget.”

Hal rolled his eyes under the mask. “Tell me about it. But there's a problem with him. I mean, more than usual.”

Kyle cocked his head, reaching into his pocket. The ring he kept in it felt smooth, and seemed to warm up when he touched it. “You're his _friend_ , right?”

“And friends point it out to your face when you do something wrong, don't they?” Hal asked, his brows rising again. It felt odd to have to spell out something so obvious. But instead of waiting for an answer, he continued: “Batman got a ring. A yellow ring.”

The younger man caught himself staring at the Green Lantern, drawing tools under one arm and power ring in his other hand. “... Okay. That _is_ bad. But what do you think I can do about it?”

“One of two things,” came the reply. “Either you can help me get that ring off him, or you can help me find someone who'd do that.”

Kyle shook his head. He and Jordan were not extremely close, but they spent some time together back in the Corps, whether they liked it or not. He did not need to ask much more to figure out what was going on under that messy brown set of hair. “Sinestro,” he said. “You want me to find Thaal Sinestro.”

Hal nodded. “Leave it to me to aim for the impossible,” he said, meeting his friend's stern gaze. No one ever liked his plans very much, mostly because almost every time they were conceived hastily and without much consideration, or were not actual plans at all. He was well aware that this was certainly one of those times, but then again, what other idea could he have had?

“Look,” Kyle sighed. “I'll help, but we'll waste time looking for a proverbial needle. Let's go with the first option.”

“Forcing the ring off Batman?” the Green Lantern asked, and earned a nod in reply.

“I know how yellow works. I should be able to do that,” the other said, and put the ring on his finger.

Immediately a white glow surrounded him, and did not blind the other only because it was the same type of power that Hal wielded. Yet it was greater, superior in many ways; the power of the entire emotional spectrum, the essence of life. It engulfed the young man completely, covering him in his snow white uniform.

“Let's go,” he nodded, taking off into the air, with Jordan following closely.

 

Bruce might not have been very good at cooperating with his associates recently – more than usual, that is – but that did not mean that anyone under his banner would just cease to serve their sworn duty.

Robin certainly refused to. He and Batman needed each other; it hurt him to know that his partner in crime fighting, his _father_ , would push him away like this for something so uncertain, but he would be damned if he let that get in his way. Gotham had plenty of masks and capes to keep it safe. But someone needed to protect the Dark Knight.

Bruce's problem was that he always cared for others more than himself to an extreme. His loyal partner, Robin, had to be the one to take care of him instead. So every night he would go on patrol in his own yellow cape, invariably trailing his mentor's steps. He had to veer a bit off course to avoid detection once in a while, but that was alright. He knew Batman's patrol routes like the back of his own hand.

The side alleys provided a good enough cover for his little chase, and at least three new smells each night. Fortunately he got used to the overwhelming stench of trash, fungi, and more than occasional excrement. It was typical for this part of the city, and at least the filth did not reach the rooftops.

A minor mugging delayed him somewhat, but not very much. The thug hardly saw him coming, making Robin wonder what went through the deranged heads of these people. Did they really think themselves invincible? Why did they think they could get away with this if the entire city feared the Dark Knight and his kind?

Morons, every single one of them.

He grappled himself back up to the nearby roof, his cape flapping behind him on the chilly night wind. When he landed, though, he noticed a shadow of a slim figure blocking the pale moonlight. On reflex he reached for a birdarang.

“Hello, darling,” the figure said in an accented, but soft voice as it stepped out of the shadows.

Robin lowered the hand in which he was clutching the tool. “... Mother?”

She gave him one of her mysterious smiles, one that was both oddly soft and irritatingly smug somehow. She was dressed in rather plain, comfortable clothes, a shirt and a pair of plain pants that would not restrain her during combat. However, she did not appear to carry any weapon where her son could see it.

“It's rare to see you out alone, darling,” she said.

Damian narrowed his eyes. “It's happened before,” he said carefully. Every one of Batman's partners has on occasion acted on his own, with various results – some, unfortunately, tragic – and no one seemed to find that too much out of the ordinary.

Talia nodded her head slowly, but said nothing. The boy did not like that; she was never very talkative, but she made up for the lack of words with actions or body language. This somewhat unusual attitude unnerved him, so anticipating what she could want, he said:

“If you're looking for father, he's elsewhere.” _Way to be obvious_ , he scolded himself. “You're not going to find him by delaying me.”

“No, of course not,” the woman responded, her voice low and still soft, becoming seemingly more mysterious with each word. “But I also cannot coerce him to cooperate without proper leverage.”

There it was. Damian quickly reached back for a birdarang and tossed it at his mother; he needed to make the first move and gain advantage. It took him years to finally best her, and so far he managed that only one, so he did not estimate his chances very high. He needed to get away.

As soon as the projectile neared Talia, the boy turned around to take a leap off the building, using the shot as a minor distraction. The moment he turned his back at the woman, a burst bathed him in pinkish light.

He fell as something pulled his leg back. Looking over his shoulder, he saw his mother changed.

Talia al Ghul stood on the rooftop, radiating a soothing pink glow. She now wore a strange, revealing suit in various shades of that same colour, from gentle lavender to deep magenta. The outfit came complete with a headdress in a distinct crown-like shape.

But what caught Damian's attention most were the tendrils of pink light that wrapped themselves around his leg and reached back all the way to a ring on the woman's hand. And suddenly it started making sense. Even though he did not quite understand the significance of that item or its colour, he had no trouble linking it to other rings like it. Those on the fingers of the Green Lanterns, like Hal Jordan, or those undead that plagued the planet during the dreadful Blackest Night.

Or the distinctly yellow one that found its way to the Batman.

He hastily threw another birdarang at the tendril; there was a visible scratch as the projectile bounced off, but not enough to sever the stream of light. Talia's smirk only deepened as she watched her son struggle with the force that repaired itself within moments of having been hit.

Robin did not have many options, especially since more of the pink tendrils reached for him as he tried to find a way out, and wrapped themselves around his other leg and his arms. They squeezed hard, trying to immobilize him as he struggled in their grip. One stream of light covered his lips, clenching so tight his head began to pound. He was ridden of the undignifying option of calling for help even before he got the idea.

Smirking in her usual, smug and almost cruel way, Talia took off into the night, dragging her son with her.

 

And Damian was missed sooner than anyone expected. No one paid much attention when the Bat, Nightwing, Red Hood or even the youngest of the three former partners, Red Robin, did not return for a few days. It happened quite often to each of them, and most of the time they gave no sign of being alright. They were always allowed those few days to deal with their matters before anyone interfered, because really, in this line of work things tend to happen fast and unexpectedly.

But Damian Wayne was a different case altogether. While everyone in the manor knew that boy was more of a fighter, more of a soldier than any of them, he was still barely twelve. The others were protective of him almost on instinct.

Alfred Pennyworth was the one most concerned, and for good reasons. He was always the most reasonable in the household, mostly due to the fact that he was also the eldest and most experienced.

“He can handle himself,” Tim said with a small frown on his face. He was leaning against the highback chair and effectively also over the butler's shoulder.

Alfred's expression was stern as he repeatedly changed views from satellite images of the city to recent readings from Robin's tracking device. He clearly attempted to trace the boy's patrol route that night, wanting to find where he could have gone and where he could be.

Finally, at one point near the docks, the signal cut off.

“... Oh,” Tim said. That was most certainly not a good sign.

“I feared that was the case...” the older man said, letting out something between a groan and an exasperated sigh. “He's probably in over his head. Again.”

The other nodded, reaching to where he left his Red Robin domino mask to put it on again. “The docks, right.”

Alfred immediately turned to him. “You are _not_ going out there alone, Timothy!”

“Relax,” Tim frowned. “I'll be fine.”

The butler gave him a stone, disapproving gaze. “I am certain that is precisely what Master Damian thought when he left,” he said and turned back to the batcomputer. He pulled up a piece of security footage from the docks. “Besides, you do not know everything yet.”

Red Robin cocked his head, looking almost adorable as he looked at the recording that was played before him. It showed the area at a bit of a distance, and Robin was not clearly visible in it; in fact, is seemed like he was not there at all. But he must have been, since the time stamps matched the moment when the suit's tracker went offline.

And then Tim saw it.

From behind one of the shanty buildings came a flash of bright, pink light. It softened very quickly into a faint aurora, only that it remained low and centered on a rooftop. Mere moments later something – no, someone shot into the night sky. A woman.

The boy heard himself groan loudly. “Oh, you've gotta be shitting me..”

“Timothy,” Alfred scolded him.

“Come on!” he waved a hand towards the huge screen in an exasperated motion. “Damian's been taken by a woman wearing some power ring! I may not be an expert, but I was there when the zombies hit, I know a Lantern when I see one.”

The butler's expression softened a bit. Red Robin was right, of course; the situation took a turn for the worse, and quite unexpectedly so. Alfred nodded slowly. “Then what do you expect to do out there by yourself?”

Tim gave him a confident smile. “I'm gonna find an expert.”

 

That, however, did not prove to be as easy as it sounded at first. Red Robin was technically not part of the Justice League, even though he had access to their systems whether they liked it or not. He parked himself in one of the many abandoned buildings lining Crime Alley, or Park Row as it should be called, but his hails to the Watchtower did not yield much.

He reached the League, of course, but the Green Lantern that he needed to contact was not there at the time. It took a lot of effort, and even more waiting, before Hal Jordan finally got in touch with him.

However, when he arrived at their chosen rendez-vous spot, he was not alone. Tim frowned slightly as he beheld the man coated in such familiar, and yet so alien white light.

“If this is about Batman,” the Green Lantern said, nodding his head at the other man “he's going to help.”

“Nice to see you too,” Red Robin said to both men, prompting a grin from Kyle. Though at least they all realized that there was little if any time to waste on pleasantries. “Yes, this is about Batman, but not only. We have an extra problem.”

“Just what we need,” Hal rolled his eyes.

The boy gave him a slow nod to indicate he will tell them everything, but aloud he said: “I have to start with a question. What Lanterns are pink?”

The one to reply was Kyle. “Star Sapphires,” he said immediately. “They're powered by love, as in, any kind of love, from romantic to familial.”

Tim was ready to say something once he heard the first part, but the sounds got stuck in his throat when the White Lantern continued his answer. All of a sudden what he saw on that somewhat blurry recording did not seem so mysterious anymore.

“Any kind?” he asked, seeking confirmation for his suspicions. “The angry, selfish and heartbroken type as well?”

Hal responded with another nod. “That's what they started with, yes.”

Red Robin grimaced as the reality of what happened hit him like a speeding truck. “Shit,” was the first thing that came to his mind and he did not bother stopping himself from saying it out loud. “This isn't good. This isn't good at all.”

The Lanterns exchanged perplexed glances, not fully understanding what was going on there. Fortunately the questions asked were a good enough indicator of what the problem was.

“Issues with a Star Sapphire?” Kyle asked, carefully choosing his words. Whatever was going on clearly had a rather stressful effect on the young man, and while the White Lantern wanted to get more information, at the same time he did not eager to cause the other any more distress.

“ _Issues_ is putting it mildly,” Tim admitted. “One of them took Robin last night.”

Both men stared at him with questions written all over their faces. “Why?” Hal finally tried.

“I have a very, very bad suspicion,” Red Robin answered, not liking the sound of his own words. “I fear it might've been his mother.”


	4. 04 - The Hope

Normally the family's first instinct would be to inform the Batman about his son's abduction, but these were not normal circumstances. So the man had no idea what has transpired in the docks as he sat perched on one of Gotham's many skyscrapers.

“What do you want?” he asked, staring across the cityscape.

“We should talk,” Superman said, descending onto the roof quietly, with only his cape flapping on the night wind. If Batman bothered to look at him, he would see his brows raised slightly and his unearthly eyes gleaming with concern.

“It's about what I think it is, isn't it?” the Dark Knight said, his tone still firm and as emotionless as only he could be.

The Kryptonian raised an eyebrow a bit higher. “Yes, it is,” he admitted. “Bruce, we're just worried about you, that thing-”

“Has given me power,” the Bat cut in and finished the other man's sentence for him. “I'm tired of repeating the same thing over and over, Kal. I'm _fine_.”

Clark's eyes narrowed this time in response to those harsh words, and it gave him that characteristic, strict expression of not-taking-your-crap-today. “No, you're not,” he announced. “Your heartbeat's quickened, your respiration too...”

“I've been patrolling,” Bruce replied.

“I know your body,” Superman said, and only his friend's stern gaze told him how wrong that sounded. “What I mean is that I know how much effort it takes to make you so tired. Whatever that thing is doing to you, Bruce, it's affecting your health!”

Batman's stare did not change at all, and it told him everything. He was more than aware of the effects, of the potential consequences, and he accepted them.

“It's a small price to pay,” he said.

Clark barely held a whimper. “There you go! You're doing it again! Ready and willing to get yourself killed without consideration for the rest of us!”

“I'm not getting myself killed,” the Dark Knight said, and his voice sounded just a tiny bit softer, the difference so subtle that only Kryptonian hearing could pick it up. He straightened up, his impressive frame blending in with the shadows of the cloudy night.

“And what is something happens after all?” Superman asked, calming down somewhat as well. But his unearthly eyes still shone, with a fire seldom seen in them. “You can't predict everything no matter how hard you try.”

The other man rolled his eyes under the cowl. “Then let's hope it doesn't happen,” he said. “Hope is everything you're about, isn't it?”

Clark flung his arms in exasperation. Those were the times he wondered how come Bruce Wayne still has any friends, and how come no one simply slapped him across the face for being like this. He could be just as charming to all those ladies he picked up for half an hour as he could be inconsiderate. “We're worried about you, is that so hard?” Kal asked. “We care about what happens to you!”

Batman did not reply at once. But when he spoke, the words were sharp and painful. “If you really care, if you're my friend, you'll let me better my city.”

Superman clenched a fist. The Dark Knight was never this selfish before. He could be very awkward, but not this... blind. It had to be because of the influence of the yellow element. It had to be.

“If you're going to be like this, then fine,” he said out loud. “I will find some way to help you. I won't give up on you, because yes, hope is what the house of El is about.”

As he took off, trying to suppress anger, he heard Bruce snort. “I don't need anyone's help.”

 

The whispers were getting louder.

Bruce struggled to silence them, to shut them off and just not listen. He knew what he was afraid of already, he did not need a trinket to remind him constantly. But it was getting difficult, now that he was informed – after a lot of persuasion – where Red Robin went in such haste just an hour ago. The voice kept talking. Reminding him of Jason. And how the same thing could – _will –_ happen again.

Batman knew that Timothy most likely went to consult the whole thing with someone before jumping into action. He was not afraid of risk, but neither was he a fool, and he most likely assumed that Damian was in no immediate danger.

But he was. The voice said so.

Alfred did not tell him exactly, but it did not take much to figure out who that Star Sapphire was. The only woman out of the entire Corps who could have an interest in abducting the Boy Wonder was his mother. So she did not have the power before... but neither did Batman.

They called it Wonder Tower. True to its name, it towered over almost any other structure in Gotham, or at least the old collapsed bridge, which has not yet been rebuilt, and Park Row that both stood at its sides.

It looked Victorian, in a very steampunk sort of way, built entirely out of metal. Despite having been there for at least a hundred years – some claim that even longer – it did not seem to have faded much; the metal still looked golden, even though it lost much of its gleam.

What few realized was that the Tower was just the tip of a forgotten iceberg, that underneath it laid what was left of a once-utopian town, then district incorporated into Gotham. They called it Wonder City because it was meant to be a paradise, a place free from harm, crime and worry.

Obviously, that was never the case.

Even fewer realized why, and who the man who built it actually was. His name all but evaporated from history records, and even if someone traced it all they would find would be false documents, a fabricated history and a throwaway name. He had many names and even a few faces, but he wanted the world to know him by one only.

Ra's al Ghul. The Demon's Head.

This time, however, the Bat was not after him. While Ra's al Ghul was by far his most dangerous and formidable opponent, as far as personal grudges went, the Demon's daughter was far, far worse. She knew of the Batman, and of the man under the cowl. And at this point his new power stopped being much of a secret as well, so he did not bother hiding it. He would need it, especially if Talia had a ring as well.

Pink. Star Sapphire. The power of love, at least so they claim.

It was bad. Very bad.

Wonder City was all covered in dust in a layer so thick it was visible, and it was also overwhelmingly quiet. If Batman was superstitious, he could have sworn that the decommissioned mechanical guards stared back at him from where they laid broken, or where displayed in glass cases for nonexistant citizens to see.

It would not be so bad if not for the occasional creak of old wood, clank of rusting metal or even a quiet gush of wind seemingly from nowhere. To just anyone Wonder City would look haunted, and the average brain would easily accepted that as an explanation. But Batman knew what laid behind the huge brass door that has no been opened for what could have been decades. The gates, though now undisturbed, once opened the way towards a chamber where the founder of this city cheated death.

The mysterious, sacred Lazarus Pit.

Batman fortunately knew the secret passages the League of Assassins used to move around the old city, and thus he could also get past the brass gates. The unnerving silence that followed him suggested that if Talia really took their son there, she was without backup.

Or backup was just that much unmoving.

The ring felt warm in his belt as he made his way through the deserted streets. And when he finally heard footsteps approaching, he could swear the ring chimed.

He did not make it all the way to the Lazarus chamber when Talia decided to make her presence known to him. She did not bother to hide her new found power, illuminating the dark alley with her delicate, pink light of love. Batman eyed her in what he hoped was a critical way, his eyes trailing every inch of the Sapphire suit, glad that she could not see them behind the lenses of his cowl.

“You took your time, beloved,” she said, a small, almost warm smile on her thin face.

“I wasn't exactly in a hurry to see you again,” he replied, his voice low, but with a faint hint of venom. “Where's Damian?”

“Safe and happy,” the woman said, accenting the last word as if wanting to make sure the Dark Knight got the message. She stepped towards him, the violet ring on her finger gleaming ever so faintly as she came closer to the object of her desires.

In response, Bruce raised his right hand, quickly putting his own ring on it and presenting it as it was an actual weapon. But he did not move from his spot; though tired, though concerned, he was not the one who should be afraid.

So far, the Sapphire did not seem to be, either.

“Where is he?” Batman asked again, and his ring gleamed for a fraction of a second, as if wanting to threaten the woman.

Instead of answering his question, Talia raised a gloved hand to touch the part of his cheek that was not hidden under the cowl, and he did not resist the tender touch. Her lips opened slowly, in an almost sensual motion, to say something, speak some words of Sapphire love that would tempt him once more, trap him in her charm.

But no words came out as she noticed her ring's light pulsing. Images flooded her mind even though she tried to stop them, images of Batman's deepest desires. She saw everything there was to see, his broken, bleeding heart, the deep longing for something he could not have, the loneliness of sleeping by himself in a bed so large and cold.

They both knew that love was what Bruce Wayne craved more than anything. It seemed that all of it, all the love that he had in his life, was pried away, wrestled from his weak grip on that horrible night. In truth, there has always been someone who cared, a surrogate father, a woman he could treat like a mother, and then children, one, two, three, and now as many as four sons that looked to him for care, providence and protection. They gave him what seemed to be all the love he would ever need, but that one part was still missing, that kind of affection he could only find with a romantic partner.

Bruce Wayne could never hold a woman by his side for long, due to the simple fact that most of his relationships were covers; simple, meaningless flirts meant for the media to record and the world to see. Those he intended to keep with him forever – the naïve, desperate man that he was – either turned out to be there for personal gain that usually involved his premature demise, could not bear his secrets, or simply died.

He needed someone that he could trust not to turn on him, not for money, not for power, not for some misguided sense of right and wrong. Someone who would know of the cape and the cowl, and would be able to live with that world, perhaps _in_ that world.

Someone who would not die on him.

Talia's lips curled down into a furious sneer when her power made her realize she was not the one he longed for.

She slapped him with her hand, unknowingly engulfing it in the pink light. The force of her blow sent him stumbling sideways into an old newspaper stand, making the metal construction fall with loud clanks and the old papers scatter. The moment he regained his balance with the help of the wall, he raised his ring towards her.

“What kind of a moodswing was that?” he growled. But before he managed to retaliate, a blindingly pink construct gripped his wrist and squeezed it so tightly that he felt it against his bones.

Crying out in sudden pain, he focused as much of the yellow energy as he could into a simple saw to try and cut her force off himself. But the pink tendril proved more resilient than he anticipated and before he adjusted, the construct split in two, grasping his other wrist and pushing him against the wall. What looked like some sort of tentacle wrapped itself around his throat.

“How dare you?” the Sapphire hissed at him, making her creations squeeze his arms harder to force his fingers to part. As soon as they did so, and as Bruce struggled to control the pain, Talia pulled the yellow ring off him.

Within seconds the golden gleam of his Corps uniform faded, leaving but the old, wounded Bat.

“How dare you?” the woman repeated, swinging her hand as if she held a whip. Following that motion, the pink tendrils heaved Bruce up and slammed him into the ground onto his back, but did not let go.

The Knight groaned on impact, feeling himself shiver as his lower back stung more than the rest of him, reminding him of the old, painful and very, very scary injury. He would not admit so out loud, still there were a few who knew this secret of his; who knew that there are not many things he fears more than having his back broken once again, of being forced back into a wheelchair, into a life of depending on someone else and off the battlefield. He just hoped Talia would not realize that.

There was a quiet clink as his yellow ring hit the ground several feet away, but restrained as he was, he could not even try to reach for it. He tried calling out to it, willing it to come to him instead, but the moment it as much as twitched his focus involuntarily shifted elsewhere and his concentration all but shattered.

He was not really surprised when the pink tendrils split into even more and began forcing themselves under his suit, slowly removing the belt, the cowl and eventually leaving him half-naked with his chest exposed. The construct around his neck squeezed tighter as the others worked on his costume, making him gasp for air so that he would not try to command the ring, and so that the Sapphire could take her sweet time with whatever she had planned.

And what she had planned was obvious. Of course she would resolve to something like this, something this low. After all, she already had once before. But back then not only did Bruce not mind having sex with her, he could not remember it at all. While technically that was rape under all definitions, at least fate was merciful enough for him to let him go through it under drugs and not leave him very traumatized.

This time would be very different.

A gleaming tentacle pulled his grey leggins down, apparently along with his underwear as the cool draft of a long forsaken street hit his exposed skin. One of the tendrils flicked over the tip of his flaccid member, sending a jolt of short, intense pleasure through him. The one around his neck then moved up, cupping his chin as if it was a hand and turned him to face his oppressor.

“I see you already forgot who you belong to,” she said in a tone more dark than seductive, but the smirk she was sporting moved into the somewhat perverted territory.

Batman heard himself gasp as another construct brushed against his testicles, making his shaft twitch as it slowly rose to attention against his will. He prided himself on good self-control, but the strangle tingles the violet light send through his nerves proved to be more blissful than he expected. Now, he was sure, there was no chance of him shifting his focus somewhere else, and he was ashamed of having such trouble resisting.

Talia phased her suit away, revealing that she had a delicate robe underneath. It was not the first of Bruce's concerns, though, especially that it almost immediately dropped to the dusty floor. The woman changed little since he last saw her like this, but it was thanks to nothing more than Lazarus. He had to keep telling himself that even though she could seduce many if not most with looks alone, she lived and flourished on borrowed time.

“You do not find me beautiful anymore, do you?” she asked, her smirk vanishing for a moment. Truth was that beauty was not what vexed in her; she did not exactly meet many beauty standards. She was skinny, her face lean and her breasts somewhat flat. Almost all of her exotic, predatory charm was contained in her eyes.

“It's hard to admire your rapist,” Batman finally said, trying to resist the tender touch as best as he could and failing.

The Sapphire moved a little closer and knelt by his side, running her fingers against his cheek again. “And yet you came here seeking a child born of rape.”

“He's not accountable for your crimes,” he managed in reply, his voice becoming somewhat raspy. One of the tendrils wrapped itself around the tip of his hardness and squeezed, forcing a gasp out of him. It then started moving along the length, as if trying to turn his attention away from what the woman was saying.

“No, but a child deserves to be with his mother,” she responded, giving him a smug grin full of venom. “You should know that, beloved.”

The violet tentacles forced Bruce's legs apart, and when he felt something brush against his anus it was clear what she had planned for him. It was also both incredibly arousing, that odd tingle against his sensitive skin, and almost terrifying, especially with the knowledge that she had no intention of being gentle to him. There were few ways in which he could be physically hurt, and this was one of them. Perhaps, possibly, this was what he feared most after reliving that old wheelchair nightmare – having his desires, his passions and his wishes for love used against him in such a crude, cruel way.

Talia wagered that the Knight has not been active in that way, and from the way he tried to flinch away from the massaging tendril, it was clear to her she was right. If she took him raw and without preparation, it would hurt him, even though it was for reasons partly different to what she initially surmised.

The Bat shivered visibly as the violet light forced itself inside him. It did not stretch him very much at that point, being little more than a thin rod, but the intrusion was quick and sudden. He felt his toes curl in his boots as he was penetrated deeper, too deep for him to ignore. It was true that he never had more than a finger in there as some of his previous lovers teased him, but they were always gentle, careful and considerate.

The last things Talia decided to be that day.

“Not enjoying yourself, my love?” she asked, making the tendril move back and forth. Eventually, and quite suddenly, Bruce arched back as his prostate was touched. He could not reply as his voice got stuck somewhere in his throat, or perhaps melted away with the jolts of what felt like electricity flowing through him with every thrust.

“Is this not what you want?” the Sapphire teased, watching the man's face twist in bliss mixed with visible pain, and his mouth opening and closing as he struggled for air. “Do you not long to be touched like this, taken like this?”

Batman gave her a sharp glare. “Not by you,” he breathed.

She pulled up from where she was kneeling next to him. She decided not to reply to that, as she knew very well that she was not the one he desired anymore. But it did not matter. It was alright. She would get what she wanted.

Despite the hurt the constructs caused him with each push, Bruce could not deny that his shaft reacted to the intense sensations both from his prostate and from the tentacle that stroked him. They worked him in a steady rhythm, eventually forcing enough unwanted pleasure into him to make him start wanting it. It overwhelmed the pain, at least.

But then his throbbing shaft was released and Talia straddled him, pressing her moist lips against that very hardness and making him utter a somewhat surprised moan. He did not expect her to go there, be he could not exactly complain as the warmth rubbed against him. She, too, clearly enjoyed that as her eyes fell half-closed, but she refused to relinquish control.

Finally, she pulled up a bit and then lowered herself again, taking him inside of her with a long, exaggerated moan of pleasure. Bruce was not sure if he wanted to close his eyes or not; the sensations were clear and intense for him to be unable to think of anything else, and he could barely imagine someone else being there in her stead. He could not do that while knowing that the one he wanted to be there with him would feel completely different. On the other hand, the view was not exactly unpleasant. Talia's breasts bounced excitingly as she moved on top of him, and perhaps, if he kept looking, he could end this soon...

He regretted that decision as soon as the woman leaned forward, her breasts pressed against him, her flushed face inches from his and her ragged breath on his lips. That would have been incredibly arousing if not for the words she spoke.

“He will never touch you like this...” she said in a quiet, but sinister voice. Bruce felt himself shiver; he knew that already, but it hurt to hear it said out loud like that.

“He does not want you...” Talia added and pulled back again, a smirk of victory twisting her lips. She made a bit of space between the two of them so that a tendril could slide there and rub her clit in rhythm with the movements of her hips.

The Knight did not fight nor struggle, taking in the pleasure. Sadly, he could not do so for much longer as the Sapphire noticed he began enjoying himself a little too much. She prompted a pained hiss out of him as the violet rod inside him expanded suddenly and stretched him to his limits. He blinked away tears, knowing she saw them and that it brought her sick satisfaction, but the warmth and tightness around his erection was enough to keep him up... to reduce him to a groaning, trembling mixture of bliss and hurt, unable to discern which was greater.

Above him, Talia's moans grew progressively louder as the gleaming tentacle added to her pleasure. Her moves became a bit chaotic, frantic even, as she inevitably neared the end.

Soon – both to the Bat's relief and dismay – the muscles clenched around him tightly, wave after wave, and the woman let out a loud cry of orgasm.

Bruce's own climax did not come yet, and though it was very close, the pain in his rear stopped him from going over the edge even despite the increased sensation around his shaft. A part of him was glad that the ordeal was finally, more or less, over, and the rest kept cursing that he did not find release. But despite that aching need he had to – _had to_ _–_ take a different chance. When Talia gave into her own bliss, her concentration wavered, and with it so did the tendrils.

With significantly less effort the Batman pulled his arm free from their grip and immediately, without thinking too hard about it, he punched the Sapphire in the side. Unprepared and still shaken by the orgasm, she fell sideways. The blow itself was not enough to force her off him, and she would have surely pulled herself back up, but with her constructs now completely gone the Bat was able to shove her off.

And continue his assault.

He could not tell what gave him that sudden strength, that ferocity. Was it because she had the gall to hurt- to rape him as she did before? Or was it that she threatened his beloved son?

Or was it the fact that she could look right into the deepest secrets of his heart and mock them?

Whichever it was, it let him use his advantage and quite literally beat his oppressor senseless. Talia tried to fight back, but even strengthened by the divine powers of the Lazarus Pits and the ring combined, she could not stop him after that initial, surprising blow. Soon enough she fell to the cold, dusty ground.

Batman stumbled backwards away from her, as if only just realizing what happened. Or more like what he did. It felt like haze lifting from before his eyes to reveal a horror. But even looking at Talia's bruised face, at her beaten body, he could not find it in himself to regret it. He did not kill her, after all, and she deserved it, he told himself. She did.

Redressing rather quickly, he could not help but groan. That rush of violence let him forget about his demanding erection but it not make it go away entirely. He took the ring the Sapphire pried off him and put it back on his finger, and as the yellow energy coursed through him and engulfed him he felt his focus shift back to what mattered more than getting off.

His son was still not safe.

As he headed deeper into Wonder City, Bruce tried not to think about what Talia said, but it proved difficult.

He knew that he had no chance for love from the one he desired. He did not even hope for that.


End file.
